


as above, so below

by oceansinmychest



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F, Governor Vera Bennett, One Shot, Prisoner Joan Ferguson, Public Sex, Season/Series 05, Semi-Public Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:26:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23144650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceansinmychest/pseuds/oceansinmychest
Summary: If she expected tenderness, then she was a soft-hearted fool.From above, the badge glistens. Glows like an unholy brand.
Relationships: Vera Bennett/Joan Ferguson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32





	as above, so below

**Author's Note:**

> I know how unrealistic this scene is, but that didn’t stop me from writing it lol. While revising this, I had been listening to “Choice Kingdom” by: alt+j.
> 
> Enjoy some smut while we patiently await the new season. xx

Let it be known that Governor Vera Bennett sold her soul for higher power. Vera revels in her succession, this petty victory allows her to wear the crowns and assume the throne.

Until the next staff rotation, Vera vows to keep Joan under her charge. Exercising discretion, she’ll escort the Devil back to her cell, but not right now. She’s _earned_ this moment.

Without hesitation, Miss Bennett issues a strong command.

“Stay where you are.”

Blinds drawn shut grant the two some semblance of privacy.

In a near ceremonial, ritualistic fashion, Joan removes her prison-issued sweatshirt while looking her betrayer in the eye. Neatly, she folds the garment in half to crouch upon beneath the confines of the - _her_ – desk, clad in the white undershirt. It’s almost a laughable image to find the venerable Joan Ferguson in such a position.

Not a single soul questions Ferguson’s whereabouts.

Any governor can get away with altered CCTV footage, if the need arises.

Finally, respect is paid to her and her altar. Governor Bennett experiences the quaking flow of admiration. Such an earthly, feminine scent radiates from her in the debauchery of it all. Now, Joan notices her. Now, Joan takes care of her. Peering down into eyes as dark as the abyss, perhaps it’s a little too much.

She strips her legs, rids her of the trousers and nylon to leave her partially exposed. A steady, calm palm ghosts along her sun-kissed skin. Squeezes her calf to feel the muscle shudder.

Sinking her teeth into her quivering lower lip, Vera revels in her predecessor’s demise. It excites her to have someone so powerful stoop so low.

Maybe power’s her kink or maybe it’s undeniably Joan.

She revels in the thrill. Fantasizes about the words unspoken, the unceremonious lectures, and the villainous monologues that boil her blood. It’s exploitation for the sake of having her needs met.

A little stress relief goes a long way.

How she longs to stand and coax Joan’s hot, wet mouth closer to her burning center. Yet, she’s not one to gloat now, is she?

A thumb caresses that proud, pale jawline only to get nipped, pricked, and suckled on. Wincing, Vera recoils. Perhaps she deserves the glare that ensues. If she expected tenderness, then she was a soft-hearted fool.

From above, the badge glistens. Glows like an unholy brand.

“Stay where you are, Ferguson.”

She exhales through her button nose.

Devoted kisses contain a trace of scorn. Retaliation comes in the form of a nip. She bares her teeth and Governor Bennett feels the indentation pressed against her thigh.

“Exercising divine retribution, Vera?”

Joan coos in savage mockery, leaving her mark behind in more ways than one.

Embarking upon the path of further depravity, this delicious torture sends her spiraling. Stealing a peek down below, that smoldering stare captivates her. Unable to focus on standard protocol, her unoccupied hands form loose fists.

Her wrist slithers down to settle between her parted legs. Vera meanders her thumb around her clit, applying pressure to tempt that wicked woman to serve her. Unable to resist temptation, Ferguson takes the bait. Swats Vera’s questing hand away, akin to an irked cat.

In passing, inmates and officers alike come and go.

Quivering in her seat, her core burns as she struggles to sit upright. She digs a heel into the curve of Joan’s broad back, rewarded by ragged scratches across her thighs.

Deputy Miles slithers in begging for extra shifts, her hand braced on the doorframe, ponytail wagging. In a moment of weakness, Vera grants her request.

“Anything else, Gov?” A glimmer of amusement sparks.

The guard quirks her brow, drumming her fingers against the wall.

“That will be all, Miss Miles.”

Smiles’ lopsided smirk and knowing look haunt her. Makes her overtly paranoid.

Chain swinging, she saunters out and whistles a jaunty tune.

With a startled squeak, she bites down on the cuff of her sleeve to suppress a moan. Held captive, she feels herself spread and put on display.

Constant, languid flicks of the tongue serve as a warped mode of reassurance. Savoring the fruit, a leviathan turns her head. That black hole stare flicks up to pull her deeper into orbit.

In a cross between lust and self-reservation, Vera rattles her loose fists against her lap. She represses the need to pull her closer. Her attention shifts to the dual monitors perched on her desk, comforted by the purpose of their functionality.

The door opens. Deputy Governor Jackson pokes inside. He looks tired, haggard, worn down by life and prison itself.

Poor Vera tries her best to keep her hands occupied. She nearly bites down on her knuckle, mustering a tiny nod in response. From another perspective, she hopes that she appears distracted as opposed to undone.

“Everything alright, Governor?” Will asks.

Vera simply nods.

She glances down, locking eyes with burning coal. Her stare wanders further, catching the hand between Ferguson’s thighs. Watching Joan pleasure herself arouses her more than she can say.

Her stiffened nipples scrape against the cotton fabric of her bra.

Despite her instinct to retract, she lures Midas closer to gold. In reverence, she traces two fingers along Joan’s jawline.

There is a modest, albeit brief resistance towards the insistent, persistent assault. A slap against her clit causes her to jolt. She attempts to divert her attention to the dual monitors. When she clamps her jaw shut, Vera damn near grinds her teeth. Without admitting it, she cherishes the inevitable collapse.

In waltzes Jake Stewart, her supposed paramour.

Queen Medb’s awful plans always come to fruition. Shrouded in secrecy and hidden away, Joan smirks.

Upon receiving the kiss, Vera experiences a particularly rough, prolonged thrust; she finds herself moaning against Jake’s lip, but recoiling before she tastes the slip of his tongue, never as talented as the wicked silver one that flicks against her throbbing clit. It ends as it began with him: a mere peck on the lips called a ruse. Honeyed kisses always taste of deceit.

One of them steals her breath. She’s not quite sure who.

The flat of her tongue runs along her slit, the tip probing her warm, fluttering entrance. Cramped beneath the desk, she knows where to lick, touch, and caress. The creak and twinge in her spine make this all worthwhile. Joan has her by the cunt and makes a feast out of her.

Ardent attention reels Vera in.

Under the sway of the fluorescent lights, there is a glint to her obsidian eyes. She acts downright ravenous.

Without preamble, a crooked finger eases inside. Then another. At the unexpected pressure, her hips jerk. In response, her knees hit the underside of the desk, bruises sure to follow. Kicking off her kitten heels, toes curl in the midst of delight and satisfaction.

Nails sink into her thighs, clutching and holding her close like Midas gold, that touch sure enough to leave a mark for days to come. The tip of her tongue slips inside out of silent retaliation. Those devilish thrusts cause her to jerk and nearly mewl from pleasure. Miss Bennett feels completely and utterly consumed.

Now confident that neither staff nor inmate will enter, she hooks her legs over the arm rests and grinds against those drilling, demanding fingers. Despite the risk, she rides out her pleasure. At last, her hands seek purchase in Joan’s thick hair. She crowns her, kings her, celebrates her fall from grace.

Inertia propels her forward. A jolt of electricity courses through Vera. Brands itself as rampant desire. As her orgasm washes over her and instills her with a honeyed glow, her belly shudders. Her body grows taut, now uncomfortably rigid in her seat.

Quite pleased with herself, Joan licks her lips.

As a peace offering, Vera brandishes her polished, folded handkerchief. Her heart yearns to keep Joan by her side no matter how unlawful, how unethical, it might be. After a moment’s hesitation with the back of her hand concealing her mouth, Joan takes the cloth to pat at her glistening lips and chin.

She tucks away her ruined panties for either blackmail or as a wanton trophy.

“Come take your pound of flesh,” Ferguson goads in a titillating, snake-like whisper.

This is a bold move intent on exerting her reclaimed title.


End file.
